


Wonders

by masongirl



Series: The best laid plans [8]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Bisexual Male Character, Christmas, Cold, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, IKEA, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Moving In Together, POV Toye, Possessive Behavior, Shopping, pet peeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl
Summary: Moving in with his boyfriend brings unexpected difficulties into Joe's life.
Relationships: George Luz/Joseph Toye
Series: The best laid plans [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682071
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Wonders

IKEA is one gigantic maze of alternate universes with traps of candles, food and trinkets along the way to keep you lost inside. Joe's armed with a shopping list and one of those tiny, irresistible IKEA pencils, but it's not enough to rein George in. They barely have the money for the essentials to furnish their flat and yet, Georgie keeps playing, pretending they will buy the chic black-and-white kitchen island or the thousand-dollar sofa displayed in one of those trademark fake homes. What the hell keeps him going? Two hours in, the only thing that interests Joe is the restaurant. He studies the map and starts pushing their cart that way, hoping against hope that George will follow. He does, for all of ten steps, then strays away to a basketful of plush cloud- and sun-shaped cushions. He hugs one to his chest.

Joe taps his boot against the heel of George's right shoe. "You're obsessed."

George makes an unhappy noise and swats him away. "Don't talk to me."

Even though Joe knows George doesn't really need or even want to buy more of these things, it's fun to play along. It's starting to become a running joke between them. "I thought I wouldn't have any more rivals, now that Elvis is out of the picture."

George lets the smiling cloud drop back on the pile and hugs Joe from the side. "You'll always be my number one pillow."

"How flattering." His comment earns Joe a smack on his ass, then George sways away from him to make a beeline for the mattress displays. Joe groans and slumps on their cart. He's craving those meatballs. "Georgie, I don't care about this crap. Just choose one and let's go eat."

"You could sleep on a rock, I know." George rolls his eyes as he plops down on a bed. He checks how bouncy it is, then shakes his head and moves on to the next one. "Can you have sex on one though?"

Joe closes his eyes for a second, thanking his genes for not making him prone to blush carnation red. He ignores the bewildered stares of the people walking by and sits next to George before he can embarrass him further. "Happy?"

George just gives him a playful smirk, one of those that will etch permanent lines around the corners of his lips and his round eyes, and Joe watches him, mesmerized. He stares at that lopsided curve, its barely contained amusement, and knows with sudden clarity that George will forever look like this, suspended one breath before the punchline as if his life was merely a game. Joe loves him so much.

* * *

Bill and Babe help them with the furniture, but it still takes an entire day, countless curses and damn near some tears of frustration too to put everything together. The sun has already set by the time they finally sit down to catch their breaths. They try to fit on the second-hand couch, but it's too small for four grown-ass men, so George slides down to the cool floor instead and Bill straddles a chair, stuffing his face with a cold sandwich. Joe pulls the neck of his dirty shirt over his chin and closes his eyes. Unable to resist, his fingers comb through George's floppy hair.

Babe is the only one who seems to have some energy left. "Hey, guys, I wanted to, um, talk about something."

George hums, but no one else replies. Babe has been in an identity crisis ever since his short-lived summer fling ended, and now, he's convinced that his recent misfortunes with girls might be a result of something deeper. Personally, Joe thinks it's nothing but the usual insecurity after a heartbreak. Everyone goes through that shit, doubting even the foundations of the world when the breakup doesn't make sense. It's not his life though, so he keeps out of it and leaves the talking to George.

"Have you heard of fluid sexuality?" Babe asks. "What if I have it?"

"You have fluid brain." Bill says through a mouthful of food and Babe punches his arm for it.

"It's an actual scientific theory, I read it in a magazine at my dentist. Sexual orientation can change over time."

"If you say so." Joe drawls. He tugs on George's ear to make him speak and gets his hand slapped for it.

Babe gives him a desperate look. "Seriously, how did you two know you liked men too?"

"Too?" George snorts and Joe's lips stretch into a crooked smile. Finally.

"What?" Babe asks, looking back and forth between them.

George tilts his head back to look up at Babe. He makes an over-the-top hand gesture. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Heffron, but I only bat for one team."

Babe gapes in astonishment while Bill just keeps wolfing down the food. He doesn't seem to have any interest left in Babe's freakout. Joe thanks his lucky stars for not having to deal with this quarter-life crisis himself.

Babe clears his throat. "Really? You're not into chicks at all?"

George sighs. He drapes his arm over Joe's right leg to turn and face Babe fully. "I can see when a girl is pretty, okay? It just doesn't do much for me."

"Have you ever, er…?"

Joe knows he has, twice. As a freshman with no experience to speak of, George thought he could make it work if he liked the girl well enough. Needless to say, neither night brought fireworks and sparks. It weirded him out when they finally got down to it. _She seemed so fragile,_ he said when he and Joe talked about it. _Like an elf. And let me tell you, I was no Aragorn._ Then, true to himself, he joked that losing his virginity was an "ethereal" experience.

Instead of telling Babe any of this though, George chucks the question right back. "Well, have you?"

"Of cou -"

"With a guy."

At the conspicuous silence that follows, Bill drops his sandwich back on his plate. "Jesus Christ, you have?"

"No!" Babe squeaks, like he isn't sure anymore if it was a good idea to bring this up. "Not much. Just a kiss. I don't know, I'm kinda curious."

"Then go experiment." George says, like it's obvious. "You don't need a label for that, do you? Tell him, Joe."

Joe laces his fingers together on his stomach and closes his eyes. "You don't need a label." He mutters.

Babe's answering sigh sounds frustrated and lost, but when Bill interjects with an offer to be his wingman, the conversation takes a turn for the usual banter. Joe tunes it out. As they bicker around him, he tries to come up with some advice for next time, because he's the Queen of England if this was the end of it, but his mind draws a blank. He can't remember how he managed to overcome the first shock of liking a guy. It didn't feel scary. All his life, whenever he felt like he would disappoint someone, he prepared himself for a fight. That's it, his strategy. But what if it fails him one day?

After Bill and Babe leave, he turns to George in the hallway and asks, "Do you think I'm going to freak out too, at one point?"

"Just don't wait until the altar." George swaggers ahead of him, then turns to send him a smirk.

Joe puts his hands in his pockets. "The altar, huh?"

Instead of an instant reply, George takes his sweaty shirt off and throws it at Joe's head. In retaliation, Joe tries to hit George's ass with it, but he skips away into the kitchen. "I hope you'll make an honest man out of me one day, Joe-sie."

Joe follows him to the living room. "You won't see a ring anytime soon if you keep calling me that."

"No fair." George pouts, still backing away, and takes his socks off too to use them as projectile weapons. "I want to give you cute nicknames."

"Joe is a nickname."

"All right, Mr. Surly _._ I'm taking a shower."

"Okay." Joe dodges the socks, grinning to himself as he picks them up from the floor. It's still bare, but their thick grey carpet is waiting rolled up by the bookshelf. Their bookshelf, in their home. God, that thought feels good.

"What?" His lips quirk into a confused smile when he straightens and spots George still lingering in the doorway.

"Would you like to join me?"

It's a serious question. Joe can't cover his surprise, but he tries to act smooth as he wipes his free hand on his thigh and steps towards George. "Sure."

"Just to save water, of course." George switches back to playful banter as soon as he sees that Joe's on board. He leads them to the bathroom and takes his discarded clothes from Joe's grip to dump them in the rattan hamper in the corner. He tugs on the hem of Joe's shirt and does a little shimmy. Faking resignation, Joe raises his arms, but he can barely hide his smile.

They haven't done this before. Sharing a shower was impossible in their tiny ensuite bathrooms. Not that this one is huge, but the stall, at least, is big enough that they can comfortably alternate back and forth under the spray. Moreover, the shower head is handheld, so when George grabs it, Joe's relieved to find they can both be warm at the same time.

As the hot steam cushions them in a heavy cloud, Joe dips down and kisses the skin under George's beautiful wet eyelashes. "Can I wash your hair?"

George nods, placing his free hand on Joe's ribs. He has a lopsided smile on his face the whole time while Joe squirts shampoo into his hand and rubs it into George's hair. He combs foam through the silky strands until it looks like George has a white cap.

"I like your hair." Joe murmurs.

"I know." George puckers his lips and tilts his head up to share a proper kiss. When he pulls away, he reaches around and starts stroking Joe's ass. Up and down, cupping its curve, massaging the muscle... Joe bites his lip.

George tugs it out from between his teeth and smiles. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know." Joe replies, still not raising his voice. He's grown used to keeping the noise down.

George laughs out loud, and a pile of foam drops down to his shoulder. "Joe, we're finally alone. No one's listening."

They kiss again, as much as they can when George's lips keep wobbling into smiles, then Joe pushes at both of George's hips. "Turn around."

He washes the soap suds out of George's hair carefully, watching them float down on George's smooth back to their feet like a white river, leaving George's hair ebony-dark and smelling like citrus. When the shampoo's gone, he kisses the knob of George's spine and reaches around to direct the water on his chest. It dribbles down his skin in hot rivulets, over his pink nipples and the hair on his sternum, the muscles of his stomach and lower. Joe breaks the cascade with his free hand, rubbing it up and down along the line of that flow before embracing George fully with his arm.

He kisses the mole on the left side of George's jaw and trails his lips over the light stubble there. Its sting is both exciting and familiar. It feels like he has known George all his life but, at the same time, like it was only yesterday that they kissed under the library's pillars. Could it really have been almost one year already?

Joe closes his eyes and makes his way down to George's supple, damp neck. He mouths at it, sucks and nibbles, leaving a faint mark at the juncture because they don't have anywhere to be next week and he wants to make something of a honeymoon out of it, he wants to show his love in ways he could never before. George snickers and takes the water from him.

"What are you laughing at?" Joe grins and tickles George's side, catches him around the waist when he squirms away laughing. "What's so funny, hm?"

He goes back to kissing George's neck with fervor, and he can feel the waves of laughter subside as George relaxes. He puts the shower head back in its holder because it barely even matters now, they warm each other anyway. He rests his hands on Joe's forearms around his torso and tilts his head, offers more of his neck to Joe's lips. Despite the splashing sounds of the shower, his panting breaths echo in the stall.

Joe's fully hard now and George must know, the way they are pressed together, but he doesn't do anything, just lets Joe take his time. It's so fucking satisfying. Something about the idea of living together, of having this place only to themselves fills Joe's chest with possessiveness. For the first time, it really dawns on him that George is his and no one else's. That he wants to be Joe's.

"George…" He breathes, and George exhales even louder, almost moaning. He squeezes Joe's hand when Joe licks his ear and murmurs into it. "I want you all the fucking time. Is this normal? Do you think it is?"

George reaches up to hold Joe's head close and sighs when Joe kisses his ear again. "We're both crazy if it isn't, baby."

Joe drops his right hand to George's hip and swipes up and down with his thumb. He rolls his hips in slow, rocking circles. "Let's christen the mattress."

But George shakes his head. "Not yet." He drags Joe's hand forward to his stomach, then lower.

Joe pauses. "Here?"

"Why not?"

The list of reasons is endless, but it doesn't matter. If this is what makes George happy, Joe will gladly start tonight with a nice, slippery handjob in the humidity surrounding their naked bodies. They will continue more comfortably later. He tightens his arm around George's waist and gets to work.

* * *

Living together brings some unexpected challenges to their lives. They've hardly ever fought before, now, they fight over the smallest things sometimes. George is messy. He always misplaces the remote, has long phone calls that drive Joe up the wall, repeats the lines he likes in movies and can spend hours dissecting stories and characters. Sometimes it's cute, other times Joe wants to invest in a pair of earplugs. George also talks while washing his teeth and follows Joe around the house as he does it. Joe shudders to think about the little specks of toothpaste foam that undoubtedly end up sprayed around the apartment.

Then there's the fact that George hates shaving. He complains about it constantly, on every other bleary-eyed autumn morning because it only takes a week and he has a beard. Joe tells him, _go ahead then, grow a fucking beard,_ but George just bites his head off, hissing that he hates having too much hair on his face. What the fuck could a guy do with this? When he loses his cool in an argument, George can be really mean. He's too observant. If he attacks someone and wants it to hurt, it will, because he can pick out the most insecure points in one's armour and pierce them with a laser sharp remark that's hard to get over after.

The most unexpected difficulty that comes with spending all their free time together is the lack of privacy. Joe never would have expected that to be an issue, because he thought he had nothing to hide from George, but seems like he did. He just doesn't want to discuss everything. He doesn't want to talk all his issues out, he doesn't want to have conversations 24/7, he doesn't want to be clever all the time. He can't always say something helpful or interesting in response to George's stories, and the pressure drives him mad.

But it's still good, so incredibly good. Even when he wants to strangle his boyfriend, he feels that current of fondness in his veins, the one thing his anger can't seem to squish out. He may slam doors more often than he expected, but he wouldn't go back to how it was before for the world. He likes having his own home, even if it's just a seedling now, something that has just started growing out of the ground.

It's a thousand times harder to get out of bed for his morning workout when he has to leave George to snuffle into one of his pillows instead of Joe's chest. But it's also more necessary than ever because the amount of food Joe consumes has doubled in one month. He can't help it, George's company does wonders to his appetite. When they started dating, he thought George would be a terrible cook, because he assumed he would do too many things at once to follow the recipe. The truth is that George can cook anything he wants and make it edible, but it probably won't look or taste like the recipe he based it on. He reads the instructions once or twice, then does as many as he can remember. And he never uses scales or measuring cups - once, he memorized how much a spoonful of basic ingredients weighs, and that's the extent of his precision. He works with estimates.

But, since both of them are able to cover the cooking if they have to, they eat proper hot food almost every day. The era of ramen noodles and frozen meals is over, and Joe's eating habits see some much-needed variety at last. As a consequence, he builds muscle all over his body and looks toned enough to be in the military. It might be the reason that sparks George's brilliant Halloween idea - that they should wear uniform to Bill's party. George stays in character the whole time, turns it into an all-night roleplay, and God, Joe's so unbelievably turned on by George's combat boots, his fake dog tags, the whole outfit, the way he keeps calling Joe by his rank… he's not quite sure he'll make it home. Somehow - he doesn't even know how - but he does it, he gets through the party without embarrassing himself, and they have the hottest sex ever as soon as they hit the bed. They don't even take all their clothes off.

This sudden, deeper look into each other is the biggest wonder of this new chapter in their lives. It never ceases to amaze Joe how many endearing little quirks George has. He sings to himself while doing the dishes or folding laundry, but it's different to how he sings when he's putting on a show. Sometimes, when he's in a good mood, he hugs Joe from behind and hums notes of the melody in his ear.

At night, he likes to lie in bed and raise his arms towards the ceiling while he contemplates things or has a conversation, and he stays in weird poses to stretch after. One day, Joe comes home from a lecture and finds him in bed, on his back with both of his legs bent. His right leg is contorted outward and away from his body, like a w-sitting child's. How can he even fold himself that way?

He's wearing headphones and doesn't take them off. As Joe walks closer to the mattress, George fixes his hooded eyes on him and moves his head to a rhythm only he hears. His arms rest above his head, but he's dancing to the music with his hands and little wiggles of his body. When he straightens his legs, Joe climbs over him on all fours.

"Weirdo." He mouths, and George gives him a flirtatious look, walking his fingers up Joe's arms.

He shimmies with his shoulders. "Kettle."

One would think he had some of Bill's special brownies, but Joe knows he didn't, this is just George at his core. It's a gift that he trusts Joe enough now to share these moments with him. While the faint sounds of music float around them, Joe leans down and kisses him, dives between his lips until George himself takes the headphones off and puts them aside, looping his arms around Joe's neck. Joe's palms slide under his warm back.

They don't talk about it, just start stripping each other between kisses. It's a warm, content feeling that they can go for it anytime, that it's not an event anymore. That they can let the makeout session turn wilder and then just find pleasure in each other without the need for words. For some reason, this sense of normality turns Joe on. He just keeps thinking, _yes, I can have him, he's mine and I'm his._ How did he get so lucky?

* * *

In November, George catches a nasty cold and loses his voice for a few days. He's so mournful about it that it's almost funny, but whatever humour there was in the situation is killed by the shivers torturing his body. Although he must not be doing a stellar job, Joe tries to take care of him and make it better. He's on his way back from a "sachet run", as they have taken to calling it between each other, when he bumps into a neighbour in the stairwell.

"Hi! You must be one of the new guys." The girl says with a huge smile and extends a hand. She's around Joe's age. "Emily. I live on the fifth floor."

Joe doesn't give a fuck, but his mother raised him right, so he switches the pharmacy bag to the other hand and accepts the greeting. Five minutes later, he wishes he hadn't. For the love of God, why do fitness maniacs always hit on him? He's way past the point of feeling flattered by the attention. She's a total bombshell with a nice rack, but Jesus, her head is empty as a cavern. Her offer wouldn't be tempting even if he happened to be single.

Annoyed and helpless, Joe tries to inch his way inside his apartment. He has no problem telling other guys to fuck off, but it's much harder to be rude to a woman, and she seems deliberately obtuse, ignoring the obvious rejection he throws her way. He's cornered against the front door, her hand reaching for his shoulder, when it opens behind his back. George shuffles outside. He's wrapped in a checkered blanket and sniffles through his clogged up, red nose.

Emily takes half a step back from the miserable sight, but her grin remains vacuous and wide. "Hey. Joe's flatmate, right?"

"Boyfriend." Joe corrects her quickly, and sees George's eyelids close in a slow, sick blink.

"Luz." He whispers and gives her a small smile. No mention of his first name - it seems like he doesn't plan to befriend her. Joe strokes his back through the blanket, hoping to reassure him before he falls into one of his moods. George doesn't tend to get jealous, but he does have some insecurities, and this girl has the looks to stir them up.

At long last, she realizes that her advances aren't welcome. It's a pleasant surprise that she's nice and polite about it, but regardless, Joe's happy to see her sashay away. He nudges George back inside, touching his forehead to check his temperature.

"What are you doing?" He grumbles. George's fever has risen again. "Go back to bed."

"I was looking for a tissue. Could hear your terrible small talk in the hall."

Joe rolls his eyes and turns their electric kettle on, then dumps the contents of the pharmacy bag on the coffee table in the living room. "Tissues, nose spray, flu sachets."

He goes back to the kitchen and gets George's glass of hot water to make his medicine. Huddling on one end of the couch, George looks grossly ill and unimpressed when he presses it into his hand. "My hero."

Joe throws himself down on the cushions and grabs the remote. "Just drink it, Georgie."

George downs the sachet in one gulp and grimaces. "Do you think I should buy a gym membership?"

"Only if you feel like working out." 

"Helpful." After another pained blink, George leans his elbows on his knees and drops his head to his forearms, shivering but too fever-stubborn to settle down now. Damn it, why is he so torn up over such a stupid thing? So what if some random girl in the building looks like a wet dream? She's an empty shell in Joe's eyes. _At best._

Joe extends both of his arms towards him. "Come on. Come here."

George shakes his head, but Joe keeps beckoning until he gives in. He curls up against Joe's side, trembling. When Joe tucks the blanket tighter around his shoulders and kisses the top of his head, he sighs. His uneven breaths brush Joe's throat as the movie drones on in the background.

"The Godfather?" George croaks in his muted voice.

Perhaps it's George rubbing off on him, but Joe can't help it, he cracks a joke. "This is your best chance to polish your mafioso impression."

A series of chuckles rumble in George's chest, huffs of whistling air, then George quiets down in the embrace. He falls asleep even before Connie's wedding is over. Joe feels his temperature again and he's relieved to find it has gone down - those flu sachets are a blessing. Switching to a sports channel, he tries to relax and enjoy the game while George dozes, but he realizes that something is missing. The match is boring. It's too damn quiet without George's hilarious commentary.

"The things you get me hooked on…" Joe mutters and puts a pillow behind his head. He might as well get some shut-eye too.

* * *

Their biggest fight explodes during exam week in December. The closer they get to graduating, the more it seems to matter how things pan out, and Joe's never been famous for his patience. George keeps him from sending rage messages to the unfair professor who seems to hate Joe's guts, but in turn, Joe gets mad at him all the time. His biggest pet peeve is that George keeps coming home so late at night that it's practically the next dawn. It's not okay to become nocturnal for one week of shitty exams no one will give a fuck about five years down the line.

The night before George's last exam, he flies off the handle. It's ten goddamn p.m. and that's when George decides to leave for the library because he doesn't like studying at home? Bullshit. It's an excuse for some issue he has with Joe. What did he do now? Did he forget to wash his sweat-soaked gym clothes or what? He tries to keep George from leaving, to which George reacts by calling him an insensitive, egoistic fucker. Joe tells him to go spend the night at the library then, and George flips him off as he storms out of the apartment.

When Joe wakes up in the morning and finds no trace of George, nor any sign that he's been home, he's flooded with instant, insurmountable regret. George was right, he was an idiot. He didn't actually mean that George should stay away. He didn't mean to poison their night with such vitriol. He just wanted George to stay and have a healthy amount of sleep or, at least, to tell him what drove him away from home. It shouldn't have escalated into a fight. Why is he so bad at handling arguments?

There's nothing to do now to salvage the situation. George will start his exam in about half an hour - Joe can't exactly fly over to him and take all the stress of last night out of his mind, can he? He sends an apologetic text instead and hopes for the best.

When George spots him waiting by the Engineering building's entrance, he crosses his arms and heaves a sigh that's visible from twenty feet away. He's pale and the shadows under his eyes are darker than his glare. It doesn't seem like he had a single blink of sleep. As Muck passes Joe on the sidewalk, he claps Joe on the shoulder and gives him a wink for good luck. Joe purses his lips.

"Georgie." He says when he's close enough to touch. "How did it go?"

"Okay, I guess." George mumbles, watching the street. The bitter, bone-cutting winter gale that blows through campus makes his eyes red and damp, but he isn't crying. He rarely does. He and Joe could probably compete in the number of tears they suppress.

Joe cups George's cheek and strokes his cold skin with his thumb. It takes a few seconds to melt George's resistance, but when he grabs Joe's arm with both of his gloved hands, Joe feels brave enough to kiss the corner of his lips.

"I'm sorry."

"Forget it." George closes his eyes and finally lets it go. He slips his arms around Joe's waist and buries his face in the soft scarf wrapped around Joe's neck.

The rush of relief shatters Joe's chest, then puts it back together with hot, tingling glue. He hugs George as tight as he can, shielding him from the merciless chill in the air. "Are you okay?"

"My ears are falling off." George says. He chuckles when Joe rubs the shells of his ears with his warm hands, then leans back to look Joe in the eye. "I'm not gonna make a habit of this, okay? But I can't stay on all the time, I'm tired, Joe. I wanted some time alone."

It's the confirmation Joe's been waiting for to finally put it together. He has been trying to figure it our for a while now, the source of their problems. Last night was the last push he needed to realise it wasn't about shaving or too much conversation or not being able to study at home - it was the feeling that they had to be their lovable selves all the time. Had to be good enough, composed, charming, the way someone imagines a model boyfriend. But that's not how real life is. Feeling guilty when they slip up isn't healthy in the long-term. They should be able to let go in front of each other, he thinks.

"It's all right." He strokes the back of George's head. "I got you."

* * *

He puts a conscious effort into changing things from then on. To show George he wants the whole deal, the faults and the weaknesses and all his unusual habits, no matter how many times their friends say it's admirable that they can put up with each other all day. His efforts don't always work, because he still has rage fits when George spends hours in certain grocery store aisles and George gets pissed off when he puts leftovers in unsuitable containers, like a whole chicken breast in a glass jar. But working on these problems feel different, now that he has pinpointed the reason behind the bigger issues.

This is the first Christmas they spend together, because they went home separately last year. They had to work out a schedule for the holiday between their families, but Joe put his foot down and made sure this evening was theirs alone. He doesn't care if it's ridiculous to be inflexible about this. This is his first very own Christmas tree and he wants to enjoy it and the power of independence. He doesn't juggle school and work at once just so his mother can order him to come back and endure the usual holiday rituals he's been a part of for twenty years. He wants to establish his own traditions.

George doesn't care either way. He just enjoys the holiday so much, shopping for gifts, drinking hot chocolate at midnight and wearing ugly sweaters and a glowing elf hat in public for weeks. Although this is exactly the type of craziness that charms Joe deep down, he pretends he's counting down the days until the new year. On Christmas Eve, he falls asleep sitting in front of the TV, one of George's cushions in his arms and the neck of his sweater pulled up over his chin. He doesn't know why he keeps doing that with his clothes, but it feels so cosy to relax that way.

He wakes up to a black screen, _Santa Baby_ coming from the sound system and George dressed in a regular Santa suit trying to pretend it's sexy. Complete with a fluffy white beard. 

It's only his well-practiced muscle control that saves Joe from doubling over in laughter. He knew George wasn't going to let this night pass without something to make it memorable, but fifteen months of dating hasn't been nearly enough to predict this surprise.

 _"I'll wait up for you, dear."_ George sings the lyrics and undoes the wide black belt at his waist.

Joe slouches in his seat and puts his elbows on the back of the couch to play along. He does his best to watch it with a serious expression as George discards the red coat and strokes his fake beard with a seductive glint in his eyes. Item after item ends up in a pile on the carpet until he's left in his hat, a pair of gingerbread-patterned boxers and candy cane knee-high socks. The lights on their tree cast colourful shadows on his pale skin as he straddles Joe's lap and laces their fingers together.

Joe takes his arms off the backrest and leans close enough to see the slightest hint of a blush on George's cheeks. This must have been daring even for him. "Nice lingerie."

George waggles his eyebrows and glances down at his boxers pointedly. "I'm a snack."

Joe grabs him tight around the torso and flips them flat onto the couch, kissing him until his mouth goes numb. He mumbles into George's lips. "You're a three-course meal, you goddamn gingerbread."

George bursts into laughter and can't stop for a whole minute. He tugs on Joe's hair in delight. "The guys wouldn't believe me if I told them what comes out of your mouth sometimes."

Joe strokes George's shin. "Good, 'cause it's not for them."

"Do I get a special prize for the naughtiest Santa costume?"

"You can get one for the most ridiculous striptease."

George sighs and crosses his arms under his head, smiling. He props his socked left foot up on Joe's calf. "My life's fulfilled."

"Do you want your prize now?" Joe whispers and trails small kisses down from George's elbow to his heart, smiling to himself.

"Hell yeah." George drawls and gives Joe a long hug. "Hey, Joe."

"Yes?"

George's words brush the curve of Joe's bottom lip. "Merry Christmas. I love you."

One year or not, Joe's heart skips a beat. "I love you too."

He kisses George again, tasting sweet fudge on his tongue, then trails his way down along George's chest. "Where did you hide the gumdrop buttons?"

Under Joe's lips, George's stomach quakes from laughter.

_~End~_

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)


End file.
